


From Letters to Prose

by AMarguerite



Series: Jane Austen Birthday Ficlets [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 10:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17020971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite
Summary: Prompt from stultiloquentia: Lizzy and Darcy finally getting around to comparing their taste in books.





	From Letters to Prose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stultiloquentia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stultiloquentia/gifts).



As it was raining again— an irritating constant of the English climate, and one Elizabeth had never before had cause to hate as much as she did— her proposed plans for the afternoon were all in ruins. She could not go on the long walk with her fiancé upon which she had rested all hopes of happiness. They were trapped within Longbourne, with Mary methodically plodding through a Haydn sonata, valuing correctness more than true expression, Kitty wasting a great deal of gold foil trying to make a present for Lydia, Mrs. Bennet complaining that thunderstorms always gave her the headache, and Mr. Bennet trapped elsewhere on the estate with his steward.

Elizabeth tried not to envy her father his luck, before realizing that this left the library free. She proposed to go find a volume there, so she might entertain the company by reading aloud from a book. Jane and Bingley were not great readers and, at any rate, too busy trying to lose to the other at cards to have interest in anything else, but Darcy came with her. Mrs. Bennet urged him on with that, speaking of the great number of volumes Mr. Bennet had, “and all so beautifully bound! There is no greater library in the neighborhood. Netherfield boasts a larger room I am sure... but as I am sure you have seen, the former owners did not have as many books and they did not have them bound to match as we do. I have always thought that a false economy.”

Darcy bowed, instead of giving his opinion, and Elizabeth loved him for it. He was not, however, shy of giving his opinion of the library. The volume of books did not impress him as much as the volumes themselves, and he entered into praise of the prize of Mr. Bennet’s collection, a first edition of Laurence Sterne’s  _The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman_  with as much intelligence and enthusiasm as Elizabeth could have wished.

“Truly I cannot think of a novel more aware of the possibilities of the novel as a form,” said Darcy, examining the marbled page. “Every edition is utterly unique; every individual’s experience with it cannot be replicated. I do not think I have ever opened this book without enjoyment.”

“I am surprised,” said Elizabeth. “I fancied you might find novels silly.”

“Really? I was reading  _Tom Jones_  at Netherfield, when you came to stay.”

“I did mark that Miss Bingley was reading the second volume of what to were reading but neglected to mark the title itself. What a pity! I should have taken great joy, then, in ruining the ending for you.”

Darcy could not help but be amused by her, and after saying he was glad she hadn’t, remarked, “I had thought you a person inclined towards plays, or perhaps travelogues, rather than novels.”

“A neat swerve back to Lawrence Sterne, sir, and his sentimental journey. But no, I am every moralist’s greatest fear! A woman who rereads novels instead of sermons or anything more edifying. I have read Fanny Burney’s novels— I beg pardon, Madame d’Arbley’s novels— much more often than I ever read my primer. I could probably recite sections of  _Evelina_  word for word. I have read it aloud to the captive audience of my sisters often enough, as excuse not to pick up my needlework.”

Darcy carefully returned  _Tristram Shandy_ to the shelf and went to the collection of shabbier, more well-loved books nearer the fireplace. From these he pulled  _Cecilia_ , another novel by Madame d’Arbley, and greatly surprised Elizabeth by saying, “I have always preferred  _Cecilia_  to  _Evelina_ ; I prefer straight prose to the epistolary novel.”

“I am surprised to hear it!”

“We have established that I read novels. Why would I fail to read one of the most celebrated contemporary English novelists?

“No, no— I meant I was surprised considering what charming long letters you write.”

Darcy looked conscious at that, and Elizabeth came over and risked kissing him. “I find the long letter I have from you charming, at least, and if I am to be your wife, you must get in the habit of agreeing with my opinions.”

“Elizabeth—“

“I shall burn it, if you wish, but I have no other letter from you, yet. If you will promise to supply the lack—“

“Done,” said Darcy, smiling at her, “if you will agree to read  _Cecilia_  aloud this afternoon.”

“I shall lament leaving behind letters for prose, but for you, sir, I shall make the sacrifice.”


End file.
